


a moment's silence

by thomashelbys



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Fluff and Smut, M/M, and shag!, andy and virgil win the six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomashelbys/pseuds/thomashelbys
Summary: “What?” Virgil asks.He tucks a strand of Virgil’s hair behind his ear, hand curling around his jawline as he drags himself closer, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Nothing,” Andy whispers, their lips brushing, “just like looking at you. Best defender in the world. Champions League winner.”





	a moment's silence

**Author's Note:**

> madrid fic lads!!!!!!!! we won it six times!!!

_Madrid, June 2019_

Andy can’t help but giggle into Virgil’s mouth as his body is pressed against the door to his room. Downstairs, the lads are still celebrating the Champions League win, even though it’s well past 6 a.m. In the quiet of Andy’s room, however, with the morning sun starting to filter through the window, Andy wraps his legs around Virgil’s waist when the taller man lifts him up, grateful that he doesn’t have to strain on his tiptoes to keep kissing Virgil.

“Bed,” Andy whispers when Virgil starts trailing kisses down his jawline. “Come on, Virg. Bed, bed, bed.”

Virgil moves them from the door then, huge hands holding Andy up as he walks into the room, stumbling over a stray trainer in the process, before settling down on the fluffy bed, Andy on his lap. They stare at each other for a moment, Andy’s fingers looped on the blue ribbon of Virgil’s medal, the soft look on Virgil’s eyes making his heart hammer against his ribcage. His hands are warm on Andy’s back, tracing the knobs of his spine under his shirt as he closes the gap between them once again, and Andy lets out a content sigh as Virgil licks into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

“You couldn’t be more Scottish if you tried,” Virgil murmurs when they break apart to breathe, tugging softly at the Scotland flag tied around Andy’s neck.

Andy giggles, untying the flag and pulling it over their heads. They had been drinking for some time, yet Andy feels drunker than he actually is – and it might be because they have just won the Champions League, or it might because of the way Virgil is looking at him too, hues of blue and sunlight reflected on his skin. “There. Now you can be a bit Scottish too,” he says.

Encased by the flag, Virgil kisses him again, pulling him closer until they’re almost chest to chest. Andy lets himself be kissed, thumbs caressing Virgil’s sharp cheekbones as his mouth opens under Virgil’s. He’s been half-hard since the moment Virgil pressed him against the door and kissed him senseless, or maybe even before that, so when he licks into Andy’s mouth and moves one of his hands to Andy’s bum, Andy can’t stop the breathless moan that crawls its way up his throat and the way his stomach does a flip, his hips moving against Virgil’s in their own accord. The flag slips from over their heads as they move, followed by Andy’s t-shirt and medal, and Andy tugs at Virgil’s shirt until he gets rid of it too. Andy marvels for a second at the man in front of him, from his dark eyes to the wet shine of his pink lips, from the hollow of his throat to the expanse of his broad chest, his skin hot as it rises and falls under the tip of Andy’s fingers.

He doesn’t think he ever wanted anyone as much as he wants Virgil.

Andy touches the medal that’s still hanging from the taller man’s neck, fingers tracing the Champions League logo and the letters underneath it, the metal warm under his palm, the ribbon soft and shiny as he lifts it up and slides it off of Virgil. Andy goes for his bun next, undoing it deftly as Virgil leans backwards on his hands, tattoos spidering up and down his arm, all dark eyes and concentration as he watches Andy.

“What?” Virgil asks.

He tucks a strand of Virgil’s hair behind his ear, hand curling around his jawline as he drags himself closer, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Nothing,” Andy whispers, their lips brushing, “just like looking at you. Best defender in the world. Champions League winner.”

Andy smirks when Virgil wraps one of his arms around his waist and flips them over, immediately diving forward to connect their mouths again. Andy spreads his knees further, cradling Virgil’s hips as the taller man braces himself on a forearm, a gasp falling from Andy’s lips at the feel of Virgil’s own hard dick against his. They move against each other seamlessly, a newfound sense of franticness to it now that they’re horizontal, the press of Virgil’s body igniting every end of his on fire. His hands maps the spaces between Virgil’s ribs and down his torso until he reaches the waistband of his sweatpants and Virgil sucks a mark low on Andy’s neck, his hand making its way inside his sweatpants, touching Andy’s cock over his underwear and making him let out a low whine.

He can feel Virgil smiling against his throat, the fucker, and he keeps touching Andy just on the side of _barely_ _,_ fingertips barely making any contact with his dick. Andy pushes his hips off the bed and into Virgil’s hand, searching for something, anything, not above smacking Virgil if he doesn’t get to the bloody point.

“Fuck off,” Andy pants, not proud of how out of breath he sounds, pawing at Virgil’s sweatpants. “Take them off, Virg.”

Virgil shifts, his weight gone as he stands and _no, that’s the opposite of what Andy wants_ , and he’s about to say so, but then Virgil drags Andy’s trousers and underwear down, slowly, as if they have all the time in the world. He stands there for a moment, his own sweatpants hanging low on his hips, outline of his dick visible even in the shifty light, biting his plump lower lip and watching Andy.

“Touch yourself,” Virgil says, low but sure, his tone sending a tingling shiver down Andy’s spine.

Andy stares at him for a moment, then wraps a hand around his cock and throws an arm over his eyes. Planting one foot on the bed and spreading himself just a tad more, he strokes his cock, precome dripping from the tip at the sound of Virgil’s low _fuck_ and what sounds a lot like him touching himself. There’s something akin to a fire burning low on Andy’s belly now, his fingers curling a little bit as he hears the whisper of Virgil’s clothes falling from his body. He feels the bed dipping, moving the arm that’s covering his eyes to find the taller man kneeling between his legs, very naked and very hard and very handsome.

Virgil reaches for him, knuckles grazing the inside of his thigh, moving upwards. Andy grabs his wrist and pulls him closer, and Virgil lowers himself on top of Andy again, careful not to crush him, bracing himself on his forearm and wrapping his other hand around Andy’s cock, his grip on the right side of tight. Virgil kisses him as Andy paws at Virgil’s chest, thumbing at a nipple before moving down, making Virgil gasp into his mouth when his hand reaches Virgil’s cock, making him thrust into his hand. It’s probably not the best handjob Andy’s ever given, not with the way his brain is going into sensory overload at the feel of Virgil mouthing at his jawline and his hips thrusting against Andy’s as if they’re actually fucking.

Andy gasps when Virgil twists his calloused fingers just right, toes curling on the duvet as blood rushes to his ears. He runs his free hand through Virgil’s curls, fingers tangling at the hair on back of his neck, pelvis fucking back into the circle of Virgil’s fingers, the pressure building on Andy’s stomach multiplying tenfold.

“Tell me what you need,” Virgil says, kissing the corner of Andy’s mouth, “what do you want, Andy?”

“You,” Andy moans, teeth catching on Virgil’s lower lip, breath catching on his throat when their eyes meet, “just you.”

“You have me," Virgil smiles softly, presses a kiss high on his cheek, “I’m here. I’m yours.”

Andy nods, feeling a little bit delirious, and then Virgil wraps his hand around both of their cocks, their fingers lacing together as he wanks them and Andy keens, high on his throat, his knees digging into Virgil’s sides as his eyes fall shut. Stars explode behind his eyelids as the knot of pressure unfolds, his orgasm hitting him like a tidal wave as he comes over their hands and between their bellies.

Virgil groans against his throat, his hips moving at a restless pace as he mouths at Andy’s skin, hand fisted around his cock and body glistening with sweat. Andy pulls Virgil’s head up so he can kiss him, hand curling over Virgil’s jawline as they share a messy kiss, their teeth clicking together. Andy pulls back, just enough so their lips are still touching and he can look into Virgil’s eyes when he whispers, “want you to fuck me when we get back home.”

“Fuck,” Virgil moans, thrusting once, twice before he’s coming too, all over Andy’s belly, pressing his lips to Andy’s in short, close-mouthed kisses as he gathers his breath, “Fucking hell.”

Andy giggles again, nodding in agreement as his hand draws circles down Virgil’s back. Virgil wipes his hand on the duvet and cleans them with one of their discarded shirts, and Andy murmurs _you dirty bastard_ _,_ smiling against Virgil’s mouth as the taller man rolls his eyes half-heartedly, pecking him twice before rolling off of him. He falls to the bed beside him, their legs tangled together as Virgil pulls him closer, Andy’s head resting on his shoulder. Andy stretches, feeling Virgil’s eyes on him as his body arches and his joints pop, making him groan a little. He cranes his neck so he can look at Virgil properly, raising his hand so he can trace the circles under Virgil’s eyes and thumb at his cheek, the morning sun making everything look golden.

“How are you feeling, champion of Europe?” Virgil smiles, his voice like honey in the quiet of the room.

He laughs, and Virgil’s smile grows, his fingers curling around Andy’s shoulder. Andy closes his eyes for a moment, thinking about the last 12 hours. The starting whistle. Sadio’s ball, an arm, Mo’s goal. Their entire strategy changing two minutes into the game because suddenly they had _so much to lose_. The sea of red behind him. The game shifting, slipping. 45 minutes gone, 45 minutes left if they played their cards right. Alisson and Virgil dragging them from the brink time and time again. Joel’s assist. Div’s goal. The roar of the fans as the final whistle blew. The weight of the medal around his neck. The glimmering lights as Hendo lifted the trophy. The look passion and liberation and undiluted, genuine happiness etched on every single face that had a red shirt on, a Liverbird over their chests. The taste of champagne on his tongue. Red, red, red. Red or dead.

Andy remembers their conversation after Kiev last year, remembers the pain and heartbreak, remembers crying into Virgil’s neck as he held him close, the echo of Virgil telling him _we’ll be back next season_. Andy smiles.

“Feels a bit like I’m dreaming, ya know? Like I’m gonna wake up any second now and find out we still have to play it,” Andy answers, opening his eyes and staring at Virgil’s clear ones, “but just for a moment, and then I remember. Everything. Feels good, winning it.”

“I know,” Virgil nods, pressing a kiss to Andy’s forehead, “we did it.”

They fall quiet for a few moments, Andy tracing shapes and letters on Virgil’s chest, the noises of Madrid waking up outside their window breaking through their bubble of silence every now and then. Virgil’s body stretches endlessly beside his, his skin warm as Andy draws a slightly slanted _A_ _,_ then and _R_ right beside it with his fingers, then pauses.

“Also shagged the best defender in the world, so you know,” Andy smirks without looking up, “a ten out of ten evening for me.”

“Shut up,” Virgil groans, but Andy can feel Virgil’s body shaking with laughter underneath him, “go to sleep.”

“No,” Andy says, throwing his leg over Virgil’s waist and leaning on his elbow, his face hovering over Virgil’s, “plus, Milly will come knocking in like, five minutes, yelling about breakfast. I prefer to kiss you until then.”

Virgil curls his hand around Andy’s neck, pulling their mouths together before saying, “sounds like a plan to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> (not gonna lie: i can't, for the life of me, write smut)  
> hmu on [divckorigi](https://divckorigi.tumblr.com) dot tumblr if u want to x


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